Balancing Lives
by InfinityStar
Summary: Neither of them understood how a man could juggle three separate lives when they each struggled with only one, but Ben Laurette's world is about to come crashing down around him. Missing scenes from Undaunted Mettle.


**A/N: This story begins shortly after Ms. Spooner, the secretary Laurette was with the night Meredith murdered Noah in _Undaunted Mettle_, leaves the interview room. The first few lines of dialogue are directly from that scene.**

* * *

He continued flipping through the album Meredith had created. Something was nagging at him, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was. It would come to him; it always did. "She probably called from Penn Station. That puts her at the murder scene."

"Laurette'll never admit she called him. He'd have to give up his precious secrets."

"Meredith might give them up for him." He found the picture he wanted in the album he'd been flipping through and he looked at it. Something about that picture drew him to it. "She thinks that she's the last stop on Laurette's train. She could be wrong."

"Well, we'd still need Laurette to give her up."

He leaned back a little and was about to close the book, but the picture flashed in the corner of his eye, and he saw it. He recognized what had been nagging at him, what about that picture held the key to the case. Rapidly, the pieces fell into place and he made the connections. "He might, once he realizes exactly who she killed."

He turned the book around and pushed it toward her, folding his hands in front of him as Eames examined the photograph. She knew that something had just happened, that something in that picture had spoken to him. _...who she killed._ She heard the subtle emphasis he placed on those words. _...who she killed._ Someone in that picture held the key...and then she saw it. Taken as a whole, there wasn't anything special about the picture. But somehow, Jane Ward Preston had spoken out in vengeance for her dead son, and Goren had heard her cries. She looked up at him and met his eyes.

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "We have a couple of things to check."

Closing the book, he dropped it on top of his binder, grabbed them both and left the room with Eames right on his heels.

* * *

As Eames drove toward Noah Preston's apartment, Goren was lost in thought and the car was quiet. She reflected that it was a good thing he wasn't a macho chauvinist. He was content to let her drive without having his male ego offended. Her mind drifted into the past, to her late husband. Joe always had to be the one to drive unless she insisted hard. Then, when he did give in, he became the world's worst backseat driver. One of the things she appreciated most about Goren was that he never told her how to drive. Sometimes his energy was a lot to take, especially if he was particularly anxious to get someplace, but he was not a backseat driver. He was content to be allowed to get lost in his head without having to worry about driving to Canada because he wasn't paying attention to the road.

She knew he was working out the details of his discovery. Once the photograph they were going to Noah's place to get popped into his head at the right time, giving him the connection he needed to finally get into Meredith Breem's head, all the pieces fell into place for him. Now, he was working out the details so they could draw out Meredith's confession—or Laurette's betrayal. Either would work for them. They knew she had called Laurette from Penn Station. All they needed was for Laurette to confirm it, and they now had the ammunition they needed to get him to see her, not as his wife, but as the woman who murdered his son.

His wife. What motivated a man to live not a double life, but a triple one, with three separate and distinct families in three different states? Was he that much of a chaos junkie? Goren thought so. Always on the brink of disaster, of discovery...so much stress...as if one spouse wasn't enough.

Shaking her head in disgust with a pinch of disbelief, she muttered, "Three wives."

He looked up from the open album in his lap, from the picture of Jane Ward Preston. "Excuse me?"

"Three wives. The man has three wives. Not a wife and two exes. Three current wives. What the hell is he thinking?"

"I think he's probably too exhausted to be thinking much."

She smiled. "What would you do with three wives?"

It was his turn to smile. "Eames, I can't manage a girlfriend in my life, much less a wife or three."

"Oh, come on. Are you trying to tell me you don't have a girlfriend?"

"Whether I tell you or not won't change the fact that I don't."

She was quiet for a moment, remembering past conversations. "What about Denise?" she asked.

He shook his head with the ghost of a tender smile on his lips. "Not a girlfriend." He rubbed the back of his neck, debating whether or not to explain. "Uhm, she's a friend, a good friend...with benefits. I can call her when I need, or want, to...and vice versa." He became thoughtful. "I don't remember the last time I had a steady girlfriend. Probably before I worked Narcotics. I just...I haven't had time to invest in a relationship... well, except for what I have with you." Whatever she wanted to call it. "I'm not like you."

His statement drew the focus away from himself. She glanced at him. "Like me? What do you mean by that?"

"You can find your way around healthy relationships. You...You've got the world at your feet, Eames."

"Had, Bobby. I had the world at my feet, once. When Joe died, he took all that with him. I never found it again."

Quiet for a moment, he ran his finger along the edge of the album. "I'm sorry, Eames," he said, and he meant it. He remembered Joe Dutton's murder five years earlier. He remembered the funeral, the stoicism of his widow, flanked by her brothers. At the time, he'd thought she was in shock, too stunned to react as she buried her husband, but now he knew differently. Now he knew that she really was that strong. "But...I...I believe it's out there for you. You'll find it again."

"And what about you?"

Leaning his head back, he looked out the window. Quiet, he watched the city pass by, but his mind was elsewhere. What about him? He didn't have an answer for her, so he didn't say anything. He forced his thoughts back to the case. Three wives...how could a man manage to juggle three wives, keeping each one ignorant of the other two? He didn't know if he admired Laurette or despised him. Maybe he felt a little of both. The alpha male in him, the one that thrived on testosterone and didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain, felt some degree of admiration. If the man could manage to juggle that many women successfully, more power to him. The cop in him felt disdain because he was breaking the law. You were only allowed to have one spouse at a time. Then there was a part of him that didn't quite know how to feel. Relationships were complicated and Laurette managed to have three successful ones at the same time, keeping three very different women happy. He couldn't hate the guy for that. He was doing _something_ right.

Eames broke the silence between them. "My brothers apparently agree with you," she said, trying to lighten his mood. "They are always setting me up on blind dates, and I hate it. Sometimes I just want to invent a boyfriend so they'll stop."

He turned his head to look at her. "So why don't you?"

"Because then they'll want to meet him, and I can only avoid that for so long before I have to produce someone."

He pondered that for a little while before he said, "They care about you, and they want to see you happy. I don't see how that's a bad thing."

"It's not bad, just annoying sometimes."

Turning his attention back to his notes, he simply answered, "If you say so."

Realization hit her suddenly, like a bolt of lightening. Of course he wouldn't see it as a bad thing. He didn't have anyone in his life who cared that much. The silence was like a chasm between them which she sought to fill while changing the subject. "Tell me what you think of Laurette's wives."

He looked at her again. "What I think of them?"

With him, the case was always a safe topic. "Yes."

"Well, uhm..." He closed the album as he paused to gather his thoughts. "Sydney...I would say Sydney is dynamic, exciting. She makes him feel young and, and vibrant. Meredith, she worships him, or rather the idea of him. She validates him, makes him believe his life has been worthwhile and he's important to the world. Sara...Sara is, well, she's comfortable, familiar. She's the stability in his life, the, uh, the loyalty and...and the love. They all represent something different but equally important to him, which is why he can't give any of them up. He needs what each of them has to offer."

"Which wife would you choose?"

He stared at her. "Ex-Excuse me?"

She couldn't help smiling. "If you were in Laurette's shoes and you had to choose one of them, which one would it be?"

He was silent, once again running his finger along the edge of his binder as he watched it. "Sara," he answered finally. "I would choose Sara. She's stability and fidelity. She stayed with him through everything. She never left."

_Of course he would choose Sara_, Eames mused. She represented everything that he didn't have in his life but wanted. _She never left._ She nodded her head. "I get that. I like Sara, too."

He smiled a soft smile and looked out the window, retreating back into himself. Eames let him go.

* * *

Goren removed the crime scene tape from the doorway and held it aside to let his partner into the apartment. Although Noah had not died there, it was still an active part of their investigation. Meredith had been there. She'd gotten the murder weapon from Noah's closet. Eames looked around again as Goren crossed the room to Noah's bed. He dropped the album and his binder onto the bed and took the picture of Noah's mother from the nightstand. Opening the frame, he removed the picture and opened the album to the photo of Laurette with the Bicentennial Historical Conservation Society in 1976. He placed the picture over the photo. "Eames."

She joined him at the bedside and looked at the photos. "He cropped his mother's picture from this one," she observed.

"Sara Ward Preston..." he murmured. "I need to find out a little more about her. Let's go have another talk with Professor Roth."

* * *

"Professor Roth?"

Roth turned at the call of his name, releasing a heavy sigh when he saw Goren and Eames approaching him. "I'm sorry, detectives, I'm going to be late for my class."

"We just need a minute, professor," Goren said.

Roth shifted where he stood, debating whether to talk to them or continue on to his class. Ultimately, he decided to stay. "Can you make it quick?"

"You said you knew Noah's mother."

"Yes."

"Did you know her back in the summer of 1976?"

"Yes. She did work for the Bicentennial Historical Conservation Society that summer. That was where we met."

"The summer Ben Laurette worked with the Society?"

He nodded. "That's right. What about it?"

"Did she spend a lot of time with Mr. Laurette?"

Roth shifted uncomfortably where he stood, then looked at his watch. "That was a long time ago, and both Jane and Noah are gone now. Let the past rest with them. I really have to go now."

He turned and walked quickly down the path. Goren watched him go, folding his arms across his chest. "Can you guess what his answer would have been?" he asked.

"She had an affair with Laurette?"

He nodded. "One last time before she got married and was stuck with one man for the rest of her life."

She frowned and looked up at him. "You make that sound like it's a bad thing."

"It's not, if you choose the right person."

She moved to fall in step beside him as they walked back to the car. "Is that why you've never married?"

He was quiet for a while. "The right person is not easy to find. You...You were lucky to have found him."

"And then I lost him. What do you call that?"

He stopped at the passenger door while she walked around to the driver's side of the Explorer. He looked across the hood at her. "I still say you're lucky, Eames."

"Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Don't buy into that crap, Bobby. It's not true."

She got into the car. He hesitated until she started the engine, then he got into the car, too.

* * *

The ride back to the squad room was a quiet one. He knew that he'd upset her, and he hadn't meant to do that. He had been sincere when he'd told her that she had been lucky to have Joe. The loss, however, was almost too much for her to bear, and he should have realized that. Five years had passed since she'd lost him, yet her pain was still raw. Sometimes her stoicism made it easy to forget how deeply she felt that pain, and he cursed himself for falling into that trap. He was good with words, except where his partner was concerned. With her, he was equally adept at sticking his foot into his mouth and causing her pain, which was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

When she pulled into a spot in the parking garage at 1PP, he turned to her and touched her arm. She didn't get out of the car, but she didn't look at him, either. "I'm sorry, Eames," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I may never be fortunate enough to find a woman to love who loves me just as much, and it's not always easy to come to terms with that. It's like...like I've lost something before I ever had it, and it created a void that's never gonna be filled. But...I don't know what it's like for that void to be filled, and you do, and that makes your loss that much harder to bear."

She considered his words, and she softened. She knew he hadn't meant to upset her. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him, surprised by the open sincerity on his face. Her heart warmed toward him. "It's okay, Bobby," she assured him. "I'm just very sensitive when it comes to Joe. Sometimes, at the end of a long day, I catch myself waiting for him to get home, and when I remember that he never will...it brings all that pain back like he'd just been killed. For the past five years, people have been telling me to move on with my life, but no one can tell me how I'm supposed to do that. I can't forget that he ever lived, and that's the only way I'm ever going to get over his death."

Her voice had changed in tone and pitch as she talked, from matter-of-fact to accusatory to demanding, and he felt every emotion she projected. He reached out to her and very gently, he brushed her hair back from her face, expecting her to lash out and hit him at any moment. But she didn't. She held his gaze and allowed his touch. "I can't help you with that," he said softly. "And I can't pretend to know how you feel. I've never known anything like that, and I don't think I ever will. The only thing I can tell you is to take it one day at a time. One day, you'll turn around and look back, and you'll discover that you're better, that you can think about him without it tearing out your heart. One day, the memories will bring you happiness again."

She continued to look into his eyes. "How do you know that? How do you know that I will ever feel right again?"

"You won't. Part of your soul has been ripped away and you'll never get it back. But the wound will heal over, even if the emptiness remains."

Too late, she looked down so he wouldn't see her tears. Suddenly, she smacked his shoulder. "Why did you have to get all sensitive _here_? Why now? Damn it, Bobby."

She got out of the car and slammed the door. He sat there, stunned, for a minute before he scrambled out of the car and trotted after her. "I'm sorry," he said when he caught up to her at the elevators.

"How can you know how I feel if you've never felt it?"

"The same way I can put myself into the minds of criminals without ever having been one. I just...I understand human nature. Our emotions stand as the motivation behind everything we do. Understanding that helps me to understand the why of human behavior and the how. But again, I didn't mean to upset you."

She stepped into the elevator. "I know," she said quietly.

He stood beside her as the door closed. She immediately sensed his restlessness, which always cropped up when they rode in any elevator. Unless he had something to occupy his mind, he shifted restlessly and watched the numbers change from floor to floor. His anxiety was palpable. She reached out and touched his hand, blocking the view of the camera with her body. Gently, she stroked the back of his hand, and he went very still. She glanced at him. He looked like he had a spider on his hand, but at least he wasn't fidgeting.

They got off the elevator and walked toward their desks. "What was that?" he asked.

"That was what I had to do to make you stand still. I swear, you're as bad as a little kid sometimes."

"I don't like elevators," he said as he dropped his binder and Meredith's album on his desk.

He sat down, folded his hands and pressed them against his mouth as he looked at the papers scattered over his desk, his mind shifting gears back to the case. His eye caught the credit card activity statement that sat on top of a stack of papers. He picked it up and studied it thoughtfully. "Uhm, give me a town, Eames."

"Give you a what?" she said, looking up from her computer.

"A town. Upstate. C'mon, don't think about it."

"Okay, uh, Mt. Kisco."

He jotted it down on a page in his binder and he picked up the phone, dialing a phone number he got off one of the pages in front of him. He looked up at her as he waited for someone to answer. "We're going to give Ben Laurette another wife."

* * *

As they walked down the hall toward Laurette's office, Goren was relieved to see Meredith already there, looking suitably pissed off. They paid no attention to the woman who tried to keep them out and they walked right into the office. It was time for another dance.


End file.
